Chapter Twenty-One #3
The rocking chair creaks softly as I lower myself into it beside her. I barely have a chance to settle before Ellie pads over, tail wagging, and promptly drops her head into my lap like she’s saying, “What about me?” I laugh, running a hand down her neck as she sighs in contentment.
“Good morning to you, too.” I scratch behind her ears, dragging my fingers through the soft fur along the top of her head. Her eyes slip closed as she leans into the touch, tail thumping lazily against the porch while I keep rubbing until she finally seems satisfied.
Movement beside me catches my eye. Tris is sitting with her knees pulled up, an open envelope resting in her lap, her fingers tracing the edge of it like it weighs more than it does.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward it.
She lets out a long breath, her shoulders dropping as she hands me the letter, holding it with pinched fingers like it’s something dirty.
“This is an invitation to my mother and father’s attempt to stay relevant and in the social graces of high society,” she says, her words dripping with disdain.
I open the envelope to see that it’s an invitation, an overly fancy one that you’d expect to see for weddings, requesting the attendance of a “Miss Thorne” for a soirée being held next Wednesday at one of the lake houses on Turtle Bay.
Tilting my head, I scratch at my beard, brushing my hand over it as I read it one more time in an attempt to understand.
“Isn’t your dad in jail for something?” I finally ask.
“He probably should be,” she scoffs, pulling at the blanket lying over her shoulders.
“No, apparently Mr. Arias found it in his heart to pay my father’s bail, so daddy and mommy dearest are celebrating my father’s freedom with this masquerade of a pre-Thanksgiving party.
” She sips her coffee and shakes her head.
“A little premature and distasteful if you ask me, considering the judge hasn’t officially decided his fate yet.
However, leave it to my father to believe he’s untouchable. ”
Tris’s whole body is rigid with the intensity of her disapproval. Hearing her speak like this, sharp and cold, reminds me of the Tris I met when I first arrived here at Turtle Bay, and it sends a cold shiver down the back of my neck and unsettles something inside me.
“Did you say, Mr. Arias? As in the big Arias Oil Corporation?” I ask carefully, dread filling me as my mind begins to connect the dots that I wish weren’t there.
“That’s the one,” she mutters.
My jaw clenches, and the invitation in my hand becomes blurry. “What was your father arrested for?”
“Ha,” she huffs. “Let’s see, allegedly..
.” She puts up her hand and makes an air quote.
“Fraud and conspiracy were the ones I knew about at first... But now? Falsification of Corporate Records, Corporate Officer Fraud, Reckless Causing of a Fire, and my personal new favorite, Involuntary Manslaughter. It seems that the list of what he’s being accused of grows every day.
Not that it matters if they can’t prove he knew or was involved. ”
When I don’t respond right away, Tris turns to look at me.
“You okay?” she asks.
I can’t answer. My jaw clenches so tight, and ice fills my veins as the gravity of what she’s said sinks in.
The hidden layer of our connection is coming to the surface in a way I never expected and can’t wrap my mind around.
It shakes me to my core, and my chest aches with the implications of what this means.
I hand her back the invitation and rub my hand over my face, looking off into the tree line, trying to find something to lock onto to calm myself down.
“Levi?” Tris asks, her voice wavering with concern.
“The wildfire that killed Krystal, the one that left me,” I point to my neck and shoulder, “like this.”
I grip my knees, squeezing them, as a low grunt of frustration escapes me.
“Tris... Arias Oil doesn’t drill near Shasta Ridge,” I say slowly, letting the pieces come together. “They drill miles away. But they do run something through there.”
My jaw tightens.
“A transmission line. The Arias-Northern Link pipeline. Thirty-six inches wide. Runs straight through the canyons under the ridge.”
I swallow hard, the words tasting wrong.
“It carries crude under insane pressure.”
Her face pinches, telling me she has no idea what I’m talking about.
I take a deep breath, my chin dipping before continuing. “That kind of line is supposed to be tested constantly. There’s supposed to be corrosion checks, integrity tests, the whole deal.”
I shake my head, glancing down at the envelope in her hands before looking away again.
“Everyone thought the pipeline rupture was some freak pressure surge,” I explain, trying to help her understand. “When it blew, investigators said the metal must’ve been compromised.”
I stop, turning back to her as my stomach churns.
“They were supposed to run integrity checks on that thing constantly. Corrosion reports, cathodic protection tests, stuff that keeps the steel from thinning out.”
My eyes drop back to the invitation, imagining the type of man that would choose money over integrity, over innocent lives.
“Those checks have to be signed off on by the CFO.”
Silence stretches between us, and I exhale slowly.
“Not waived,” I add, my voice tightening. “Certified. Someone had to sign saying the inspections were completed. That everything was within safety margins.”
I look away, pinching my eyes closed, finally getting to my point.
“If your dad signed those reports...” My jaw clenches. “Then he didn’t only approve the pipeline. He approved the safety checks that said it wasn’t failing.”
I rise from my chair, unable to stay seated as the implications stack up.
“And it’s not only the pipeline, is it?” I say, half under my breath as I grip the railing of the porch and press into it. “There were rig explosions last year. Two of them. Same company.”
I scrub my hands over my face again before bringing my hands down hard on the railing.
“Those rigs run the same kind of inspection cycles. Structural checks, pressure systems, corrosion reports. And those get certified at the same level.”
Slowly, I turn around, finally looking Tris in the eyes.
“So either your father was signing off on safety reports that said everything was fine...” I pause, the words fighting to come out.
“If those signatures were his,” I say quietly, “then the pipeline failure... the rigs...” My throat constricts. “The wildfires... They weren’t accidents. They were his fault.”
We stare at each other as my accusation settles between us. Tris’s mouth opens with silent understanding.
“There’s no way to prove it,” she argues. “There’s no paper trail. Maybe you’re wrong.”
My eyes search hers, looking for the conviction behind her words, but it isn’t there. Not even she believes that her father is innocent in this. I tilt my head and raise my brow in disagreement.
“It’s not like my father is going to admit it. I’ll be expected to stand beside him as he reassures everyone at this ‘soirée’ that this whole thing is nothing more than a huge misunderstanding.”
Shock hits me like a physical blow. How, after everything that I’ve explained to her, can she show up to support that man?
Rage begins to boil in my blood, replacing the ice that was there only moments before.
She’s probably right. He’ll get away with it.
The thought makes me want to drive my fist through the entire Justice system.
“You can’t go,” I snap.
She jerks back, her brows shooting down. “Excuse me?”
“He killed Krystal!” I shout, my body trembling as I try to keep calm.
“What?” Tris gasps, slamming her coffee mug onto the table beside her.
“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that you truly believe your father is innocent and had nothing to do with the wildfires and explosions that killed countless others, Tris,” I rage, my grip on remaining calm completely slipping through my fingers.
She glares at me with anger, but I can’t stop.
“You can’t tell me that because you know I’m right. And now you’re going to stand there and cosign his act of innocence? That makes you just as guilty.”
“Go to hell,” Tris snaps, the anger on her face crumbling, replaced by a look of betrayal and hurt.
She wraps the blanket tighter around herself, drawing it up like armor, as if it could protect her from me, from the daggers my words have left buried.
“Great to know that my boyfriend thinks I’m nothing more than a murderer,” she chokes out as she stands and turns her back to me, heading inside. “I’ve been called a lot of really shitty things in my lifetime, but you’ve outdone them all.”
“That’s not fair, Tris,” I argue, slamming my hand on the door, keeping her from shutting it on me. “How am I supposed to feel about all of this?”
She meets my gaze with glassy eyes that slice their way through me despite the anger I’m filled with.
“Maybe you should take a little time and figure that out for yourself.”
Her words settle heavily in my chest, and my hand drops from her door.
I’m stepping back before I realize it. She shuts herself inside, leaving me here to question everything.
Something tight coils low in my stomach, heat flares behind my ribs, and my throat constricts.
Part of me wants to push her away. Another part refuses to move.
I stare at her closed door, unsure of what to do now and where we go from here.
She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t see how standing by her father is a slap in the face to me and to everyone affected by this corruption.
People’s lives lost, all for the bottom line.
Other couples don’t argue like this. They aren’t forced to pick sides in questions of principle and morality.
Couples fight, that’s normal, but this wasn’t that. Nothing about this is right.
Ellie brushes her paw against me, pulling me from my spiralling.
“Come on, El. Let’s go visit Tom.”
I start my truck, my mind and heart a tangled mess as I head to Tom’s, hoping he can help me make sense of everything.